Pilus Abrumpo
by belladonnacullen
Summary: You know you have too much free time on your hands when you write something like this. Vampires, plus sex, plus a little wine and some facebook friends equals this silliness. Enjoy. Oh, ExB, Isle Esme, canon-kinda', o/s, rated M.


**A/N: Inspired by VampiresHaveLaws, aWhiteBlankPage and KennedyNicoleCullen. Un-beta'd and unholy.  
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><p>"So, I have a question."<p>

"Anything," I reply, breathlessly.

My husband's cold hand slips over my belly and I squirm as his fingers brush against my warmest spot. How is it that it feels more intense every time he touches me there? His hard lips close over mine and I melt from the inside out, or at least it feels that way. The evidence of said melting slips from the lips between my thighs. Edward's fingers swirl and dip. The hint of a smile at his lips shows that he's pleased with this damp development, but there's something else in his black and amber eyes: trouble.

He pulls away from me too abruptly, his long fingers curling into a wet fist that flashes in the light from the windows. I've known him long enough that I can tell when he wants to ask a question, but doesn't know if he should. I'm almost certain it has something to do with turning me. As the days fly past, it's more and more at the forefront of my husband's mind. I haven't mentioned yet that I'm more than willing to stay human a little while longer than I'd originally intended. Simply stated: the sex is more mind-blowing than I'd ever imagined. Who knew a couple of virgins would have been such quick studies in the bedroom arena, and the dining room area, and the living room area, and the cabana, and…

My chest heaves just thinking about it – the way he knows exactly how hard to pound me – pushing me to the very brink of life and death and ecstasy. I want his hand back – I want his eternally hard cock inside of me – but now he's brooding.

I need to get these blessing versus damnation thoughts that are suddenly plaguing my husband out of his mind… for, like, twenty minutes, at least. He doesn't change – you know, vampire constancy and all – so brooding is a given for the rest of eternity for Edward and me. I can handle brooding, though, as long as it comes with all the other naked stuff.

I clamber to me knees and cradle Edward's cold face in my hands. "Go ahead, Edward. Just say it. Let it out."

His eyes are wary when they meet mine. They dip ever so quickly to… well, a spot below my navel and between my legs. I shift closer, glad we're of the same mind, at least. He's left me dying for his touch. Aching.

"You might like what I have to say on the matter," I offer, enticing Edward with my thoughts… and with spread legs.

He raises an eyebrow, still gazing downward. I try to concentrate, but with the intensity of his staring eyes, I feel like all of the blood in my body has rushed between my legs. I wonder if this bloodrush adds to the allure for him. His cool fingers brush at my hip. A whimper escapes from the back of my throat.

"This," Edward murmurs, and a finger purposefully traces a line from my pubic bone downward, almost to my clit, but not quite.

"Ummm…" I hum, suddenly unable to turn sounds into words.

"Why do you do this?" he asks.

"Wha-?" It's the closest I can come to English while his finger lingers right… _there_.

"It's not natural," he continues, studying the area with scrutiny.

Oh. My. God.

I sigh.

If he's going to go back to that old vampire mating with a human argument, well, I'm in no mood. I'm not in _that_ mood, anyway. Hasn't he noticed how well we've done? How quickly we've learned? How he makes me feel? Not to mention that judging by the gushes of freezing cum that have filled my insides and fallen on my tits and my ass, that I'm pretty damn sure he's felt the same.

I hate to do it, but I push his hand away. I'll never be able to argue with his fingertips between my thighs.

"Edward, we've been over this. I'm human and you're a vampire. We're in love. I don't care whether or not it's natural."

Edward unexpectedly smiles and small chuckle escapes from his mouth. It's not the reaction I'm braced for. I scurry backward on the bed until I'm leaning against the headboard. It's the first time I've put space between us while we're naked.

"You find us… funny?" I ask, indignantly.

His smile remains, as does that dark, hungry look in his eyes as his gaze moves slowly up my body from my vagina, to my breasts, before finally finding my eyes. I grab at a sheet and pull it over myself.

"I wasn't speaking about your mortality, although perhaps that is the perfect name," he murmurs.

I know he's infinitely intelligent and all, but sometimes my vampire husband makes no sense.

"Just tell me what you're going on about," I huff. This isn't going exactly as I'd planned.

"Mortality," he laughs quietly. "She's beautiful… and mysterious… and dark… and comforting… and infinitely soft." His fingers are back between my legs, over the sheets this time, but the coldness seeps through; pressing, circling, running back and forth, quicker than my mind can follow. When he does this it's difficult to piece together what's going on – let alone what we were discussing, or the point I was arguing.

"And salty when I taste," he continues, "with the sweetest hint of your life's blood."

I mumble something and sigh and the sheet is gone. His lips are at that inner fold, where thigh meets body, and his tongue is scratchy and cold as he whispers, "Mortality."

A string of words follow from his lips, in Latin if I'm not mistaken. He makes it hard for me to think when he's like this, so I could _totally_ be mistaken.

"_Caelestis… memento mori… omnes dulcis…"_

I quake. I shiver. I'm on the verge. His mouth is _so_ close. His fingers run over my thighs, around to my bottom. And then, quite suddenly, he's leaning on an elbow between my legs, gazing at my face expectantly.

"You were talking about my… _vagina_?" I pant. I've never said vagina around my new husband. He's never said the word out loud to me, either, but, I mean, we've used it together. He uses it quite well. I figure it's about time to speak the three little syllables.

In response, Edward laughs. _Laughs_? Again?

"There's something funny about _vagina_?" I ask. "_My_ vagina?" He's one hundred and four. You'd expect a bit more maturity.

I pull my body away from his and press my thighs together - not like that could really keep Edward away from my vagina, but I have my pride.

(I'll admit though, that even while my anger is brimming, I kind of like the truth of the matter: I could never fight Edward off and keep him away from my… vagina. I like that thought quite a bit, actually, and file it away for another day. Who am I kidding? I file it away for later this evening).

"There's nothing funny about your vagina," Edward insists.

_Wow. _

Hearing my husband say 'vagina' is intoxicating. I try to stay focused. I barely resist the wild urge to ask him to say 'pussy', too.

"I wasn't laughing at it, exactly," he continues. "Perhaps just about naming her mortality, because if I could die, I think I'd die each time you let me inside."

I sigh. He can win any argument with his formal style of dirty talk.

I make immediate plans for later. I'll rush through the tropical foliage by the house, desperately searching for a path to the sea. Edward will tackle me, catching me off guard. He can tear away my clothing – like, really tear, with his teeth, and pull my thighs apart.

"_I'm not going to kill you Ms. Cullen. But you'll be the death of me with this fine vagina of yours."_

"My problem is, well, about your… hair," Edward hesitantly admits, catching me off guard and bringing me back from my daydream. Did I hear him right? He has a problem with me? Edward never has a problem with me!

"My hair?" I ask, checking my ponytail.

"Your hair," he repeats, and when his eyes zero in, I understand what he means. He isn't talking ponytail; he's taking pubes.

I'm suddenly uncomfortable and glance over my shoulder, even though I know we're the only two people on the island. "What about my… hair?" I whisper.

"Let me show you?" Edward asks beseechingly, his eyes still focused between my thighs, so that it's like he's pleading with the 800 thread count Egyptian cotton, instead of me. He has a problem with my pubes. What's wrong with my pubes?

I hesitantly peel back the sheets that I'd gathered around myself. The barrier removed, Edward and I both stare at my nearly naked vag. Edward licks his lips. I throb. I press my thighs together, even though my instinct is to spread them wide whenever I'm naked and in the same room as my husband.

Edward places a fingertip at the angle of each of my hip bones and then very lightly glides downward, over my pantyline, until his fingertips linger at the very beginning of my… lips. I squirm. I remind myself to breath. I remind myself that he has a problem with my pubic hair, so I should technically feel at least a little bit indignant.

"All of this bare skin isn't natural," he breathes.

"What?" I gasp.

His large, cold hands cover each of my inner thighs.

"Here… this space. It's… bare."

Oh! _Right_. I guess people wouldn't have shaved down there in the 1910's and 20's. But, wait… Is he saying…

"Would you like it if this area was more… _natural_?" I gasp.

Edward studies my face, looking for some kind of cue. Then he closes his eyes tight and rubs a hand over his brow like he's trying to smooth it out.

"Bella, you have to know that I'd like you, that I'd love and worship you, no matter how you choose to style your… hair. But this?" His hand runs over my naked flesh again. "Bella, take a minute and just look. Please!"

I tear my eyes from his tortured face to concentrate on my goddamned pantyline.

"This looks like it hurts," he continues quietly. "And you know what it does to me to see you in pain."

That's when I notice small red shaving bumps. I've blamed the sun, sand and salt water, because I definitely haven't been wearing panties to aggravate the situation. Not since the blue room, anyway.

"Edward, it's fine."

"Don't tell me you're fine," he argues.

"Really, it's not that bad. It's just part of being human."

"Shaving your, your… _mortality_ is part of being human?" he asks.

"Well, these days it is."

I silently hope these days don't change very much. The idea of sporting a wild and hairy bush down there is unappealing, to say the least.

"I don't need you to do that," Edward protests.

"I do it for me, though, Edward. And well, I guess for you too. Isn't it better to be able to, I don't know, see and touch and… stuff, a little better?"

I'd wanted to say taste. I died every time he went in for taste.

"I think it would take more than these soft, downy hairs to impede my line of vision, and as far as touch goes…" Edward's voice trails off as he runs a cold, hard finger right along my landing strip, skimming between my lips. "This is heaven, Mrs. Cullen. I hardly care about certain damnation anymore, because I get to spend some time every day and every night for the rest of my existence in heaven. In you."

I whimper. My muscles get all weak and my thighs part, like my body is naturally telling him to go for it.

"This, on the other hand," Edward continues, poking at the red pinpricks of razor burn, "while still part of you, and therefore still exquisite, this looks like it hurts."

His icy hands still over both sides of my bikini line. My thighs relax more. He's afforded a view and his lips part. He's becoming distracted. I'm no longer in the mood to argue, now that I know it's over something as silly as the perils of shaving. Anyway, I won't have to worry about that after I'm…

I have a horrifying thought.

"Wait!" I nearly shout, sitting bolt upright. "When I'm turned, if the timing's not exactly right, if I don't plan it perfectly… I mean, will I have these raised, little red bumps and ingrown hairs… _forever_?"

Edward's smile is mildly infuriating. This is serious. Eternity is a long time to sport razor burn.

"Venom will fix it, Bella. If it can bring me back from dying of the Spanish influenza and Esme back from a broken spine, it can resolve a little folliculitis."

"Follicu – wait!" I scramble off the bed and to my feet, horrified once more. "Vampires – the change – hair - _Edward_!" I wail.

"Bella, what on earth is wrong?"

"After being turned, hair gets… _thicker_, and more lush… right?"

Edward runs a hand through the hair on his head, as if to demonstrate this suddenly troubling fact.

"It gets thicker… _everywhere_?" I ask, afraid I might already know the answer. I'd blamed it on the lack of grooming habits that a seventeen-year old teenager in 1918 might have had, but there was no denying that Edward's pubes were… _prominent_. Luckily for me, since he's a vampire his hair doesn't fall out and it always smells like sunshine.

"Well, I supposed so," Edward hedges.

"Then, me?" I ask, my finger circling the general area. "I have no choice?"

Edward shrugs. "Is this really a problem, Bella?"

"Eternity with… a _bush_?"

"Bella, come on," Edward chuckles. He gently tugs on the sparse hairs that point the way to my clit. "Doesn't this feel good? Just wait until afterwards. You can't even imagine how this will feel when I can give a real tug."

As much as I want my husband to really be able to tug, and press and pound and fuck me senseless, that desire is competing with a hideous vision of me wearing one of those teeny bikinis Alice packed for me – while sporting a hair-triangle the size of a New York slice of pizza.

"Isn't there anything I can do?" I ask anxiously.

Edward leans against the headboard, obviously displeased, but desperate to make me happy. "Well, I suppose we can call Carlisle," he reasons out loud.

"No!"

"Bella, with his medical knowledge and his understanding of vampire physiology, he'd probably know better than any of us how to -."

"I won't talk to your father about my pubic hair," I groan.

"Don't worry. He won't be embarrassed. Just the other day I was asking him about ejaculation and -"

I roll my eyes. "I'm already embarrassed - for both of us, now. There's got to be another way."

"Maybe if the hair isn't in the follicle at all at the time of transformation," he reasons. "Perhaps you could try a depilatory cream before the change?"

"A depilia- what?" I ask.

"Like, um, you know… _Nair_?" he ventures. "If you dare wear short shorts?" he half sings.

"Nair? Down here?" I ask, pointing once more. "Believe me, Edward, Nair and my, um, _mortality_ just don't mix."

"But I thought -"

"If you think _this_ looks like it hurts, you don't even want to know what Nair's going to do."

"I can't bear that anything might hurt you. Especially… here."

A finger skims against my sensitive skin again. I sigh and shimmy, amazed that such a cold touch can trail fire in its wake. Another finger joins the first. Lips part, both above and below. Both wet, both wanting.

"Anyway," I murmur as Edward pushes me back down on the bed, "Nair doesn't remove the hair from the follicle. It just kind of melts it on the surface, I think."

I'm seated. He's parted my thighs. He's kneeling. I'm dying inside. Fingers spread.

"What about powder?" he asks, and cold breath wafts all the way to my core.

"Powder?" I wonder aloud.

His intense eyes peer over the top of my pubic bone. "I'm almost certain there's some sort of powder for this."

His hands run over my pantyline again. His fingers are wet with my arousal and cold as ice. I shiver.

"Seriously, your touch is all I need for razor burn. And, anyway, I've never heard of any powder."

Edward's hands still. "I'm certain I heard Jessica Stanley thinking about a powder in Spanish class just before finals."

"Jessica? You were listening to Jessica's thoughts about her pubes?"

I'm on my elbows, incensed, glaring down at my husband.

"Bella, baby, I usually block that stuff out, but I was surprised to hear about a powder that could remove unwanted hair."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust Jessica or her Magic Powder for a second," I grumble.

"Hair or no hair, Bella, it could never change how I feel about you. I could never love…" and he delicately spreads my legs wider, baring me to the beachy light coming in from the windows, "I could never love this part of you any less. Infinity isn't long enough for me to understand -" and his long finger slips inside, "… and for me to worship, for me to enjoy, and to make you enjoy," and then his finger gently pushes against that spot he'd found just the other night. The intense cold and the firm pressure and the nerve endings that fire as a result make my hips jolt off the bed. Edward catches my hip with his free hand, holding my bottom up off the bed.

"I don't care about hair, Bella." His lips traveled over my pantyline, "But I care about your pain." He kisses and licks. "I can't have you hurting yourself over and over and over again."

"I can't live through eternity with a bush."

"What about waxing?" he asks.

"That's so scary!"

"But having a vampire's fingers deep inside you and his mouth pressed against your most tender flash isn't _scary_?" He flashes his teeth and they shine in the sunlight.

I shake my head. Scary is entirely the wrong word. Life-affirming is more like it. And Awesome. And intimidating. And exciting.

"Perhaps just keep it close cropped?" he suggests.

"Like a buzz cut?" I ask, giggling.

"Sounds good to me," he hums before a tongue, hard and cold, rough like a kitten's but stronger than any lion's, slides along my slit: once, twice, slowly, colder than cold, it's maddening. My muscles quiver, my body's alight. His fingers twist.

"Say you'll keep your hair," he pleads.

"No… bush," I manage.

"Then stay human a bit longer." His finger twists and swirls inside of me, his breath blows over my throbbing clit, aching to be touched. "Because I have it on good authority that, for a human -"

"This is as _almost_ as good as it gets," I murmur.

Edward goes stone still. "Almost?" he asks. He licks and twists once more. "Just… almost?"

"Fingers versus penis… penis wins every time," I explain breathlessly.

In the blink of an eye he's between my legs, his sleep pants and boxer briefs are in a pile on the ground. His cold, hard penis is pressed against my entrance. I can smell myself on his breath.

"Edward," I sigh.

"Crew cut?" he pleads and presses his penis a little harder, so that he's just probing with the tip.

"It'll still turn into a bush afterwards," I protest.

"There must be a solution," he huffs.

"We're at an impasse," I sigh. "I don't think there's a pain-free solution while human, and I don't have the freedom of choice after I'm turned."

"Perhaps we could give you enough morphine that you won't feel a thing, and then have you waxed while you're unconscious."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Epilady?" he suggests.

"Epi-who?"

"It pulls hair out at the roots, with a motor."

"What kind of sadistic -"

"God, you're right."

I sigh with relief. That thing sounded more like a torture device than a hair removal solution.

"Really, Edward, the coolness of your touch, and maybe some Aveeno is all I need when I get a little irritated. Please believe me, it would be even more painful to me to feel all hairy and wild."

"I like the thought of you wild."

"_You_ make me wild, not my hair."

He twists my hair around his hand, gently tugging at my head, baring my neck. My heart thumps. He probes deeper with his very cold, very hard cock while his lips skim along my neck. I'm dying for a thrust. I twist my fingers through his wild mane of pubic hair and tug as hard as humanly possible, eliciting a growl.

"You have enough for both of us," I whisper.

"Electrolysis?" he wonders aloud. "Would that hurt?"

"I don't know. I don't care."

"It does require a thin metal probe being slipped into the follicle and shocking it with a bolt of electricity," he muses.

"I don't think so, Edward." I tug again. I'm awarded with a bit of a thrust.

"Veet?" he asks.

"Same as Nair. Fuck me, Edward."

He hisses and bucks.

"Betty Bare Beauty Chemicals?" he whispers in my ear.

"Seriously, depilatories are out."

I cover his lips with mine, hoping to silence the unending litany of pubic hair removal techniques that are falling from his lips. I roll my hips and hold him tight. I try to show how wild I can be, even without wild growth between my thighs. I try not to think of living hundreds of years forced to wear boyshorts and granny panties.

He'll love me anyway. I know he will. It seems like he'll prefer it.

I'll be a vampire. I'll have some of the most luscious pubes in the world. Men would fall to their knees after feasting their eyes on my beauty.

Who needs bikinis? I have Edward.

And maybe he's right. All this shaving isn't natural. When we go back home and I have to wear pants again, I'll feel the difference. It really does chafe sometimes. And if I'm going to exist forever like I'd never shaved at all, well, really, what's the point?

I roll on top of my husband, feeling free, liberated, and brave. I watch as my almost bare pussy comes flush with Edward's amber waves of veritable grain, over and over. I tug and buck. We'll both be wild and free together. Vampire hippies – all hairy and proud. I can do this.

"I can do this," I murmur.

His penis hits me just right.

"Yes," we murmur in unison.

I repeat at the same angle. Edward grabs my hips. I grab his pubic hair, like I'm riding a bucking bronco, as I meet him thrust for thrust.

"Oh, Edward. Yes… yes!"

"Laser," he mumbles.

"Edward," I moan.

"Bella, god, Bella, Laser!"

"Laser?"

"Laser! It painlessly removes hair from the follicle. Forever!"

"Oh, Edward, yes!"

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

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><p><strong>AN: Now I have nothing left to write except for my next fic. Keep an eye out for it. Happy New Year! ~BDC**


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